Post by Icyferno on Oct 30, 2014 16:07:34 GMT
Status: Healthy / Rested
~
The gentle swaying of the grass revealed to the casual observer that a slight breeze blew across the secluded area undisturbed by Adventurers and People of the Land alike. This particular field was surrounded by trees, and rock formation protruded from the earth, its strange formation seemingly able to provide shelter for any beast that desired such a place to rest. It had not rained for two days, so the rocks were dry, but if one were to arrive here just after a rain, one would notice that a pool of water would form near the sheltered resting spot. Some time ago, a lone Crag Cow which had abandoned its cruel master fled here to recuperate, and a fooled Adventurer sallied forth to slay it with a unwilling heart.
That same Adventurer, once he discovered the truth of matter, felt disgusted with not just the People of the Land for resorting to trickery to get what they wanted, but also himself, for being foolish enough to accept the lie at face value. The antisocial youngster had a long way to go to settling into the world he was now trapped in.
That day, the same Adventurer which slew the unfortunate beast arrived at the same location, the blood of that day still etched somewhere in his memories, for while the youngster had slain many beasts before this particular one, none were done to help someone in their petty desires. The deed was done, but not forgotten.
However, the purpose of this trip was not to visit a grave. Neither was it for soul searching. He was here to train, simply because this was a quiet location that few knew of. Perhaps it was the fact that it was deep in the Windsor Greatwood. Perhaps it was simply because he happened to miss people who actually came here, for this was only his second time here. In any case, it mattered not to him, for the moment at least.
The young adventurer still remembered the time he purchased throwing knives for the first time from a Werecat blacksmith. Back then, he reasoned with himself that he needed them for attacks that extended beyond the reach of his sword; some things could be better accomplished with ranged attacks.
That being said, he had little experience in using projectiles. The auto feature had been helpful in aiding him in getting the right stance, the right posture to throw it, but it was slightly awkward for him, and simply too slow. No, he needed to shoot them fast, and to do so, he needed to practice until drawing, hurling and redrawing another knife became second nature to him.
There was a reason he had chosen such a secluded place to practice throwing weapons. Or rather, there were two. The first and most obvious reason is that he did not like being around people. They throw him off, constantly getting in his way with their apparently so-very-helpful tips, which he did not take well to. Everybody had their own fighting style, and he was not in the least bit inclined to learn from others for it meant exposing a weakness to others.
That led to the second one, information. It was an obvious fact that information spread much more slowly without the internet. That made information all the more valuable. Be it fighting styles, knowledge on things such as loot drops, where the best quests were, where the best grinding spots were, all these suddenly became valuable information when the internet disappeared just like the world they lived in, for many on this particular server were new people and thus, had little to no knowledge on the game itself. It was because of this that knowledge itself became something of a trade, with secrets which went for high prices, as if they were auctioning off some rare equip. As such, he did not want anybody to be spying on him, lest he one day caught the eye of some PKers.
He stepped into the familiar clearing, his boots landing softly against the hard earth which was covered by soft grass. Instead of heading for the rocky outcrop, he stopped at the edge and turned to face a tree. He stood there for a moment, breathing slowly to keep his focus. Then he acted.
In one swift, if somewhat awkward motion, the Swashbuckler snatched a knife from his belt and hurled it at one of the tree trunks. It sailed through the air, making a soft whistling sound as it flew, the cold blade of the knife pointing straight ahead, poised to strike... only air.
His aim was off by a large margin, causing the knife he had thrown to veer off and drop onto the ground after some distance. He sighed, then stepped forward to pick up his knife. Of course, he suspected such an outcome. This was because he had not thrown the knife with an attack assisted by the system, but with his own skills. The only problem was, he had never done such a thing before. He guessed he would be here a while, so it was fortunate that he had prepared about a week's worth of food. The rocky outcrop would become his temporary home while he lazed ab- um, trained with throwing projectiles until he felt that his aim without system assistance was satisfactory, which would mean to say he could hit about half the time.
He knew he should not expect much. For a beginner at throwing weapons to be somewhat proficient in it within a week was something that was far out of his reach. He was no genius; merely an ordinary person struggling in this world. Nevertheless, it never hurt to dream, and at the very least, he hoped he would gain some skill by the end of his makeshift camping trip. Apart from food, the only things he brought were a [Soft Blanket] and a book to read, one which had somehow found its way into his hands. From what he knew, it was a rare book with few existing copies, so the fact that he had somehow acquired one and did not remember how he got it was quite baffling. Was it by a red letter...? In any case, he hoped he would be comfortable staying here for a few days. He was not exactly an outdoors person.
If he were to plan out a schedule for himself, he would say that he will be spending the first five or so days practicing on trees. The thick, solid wood was a good way to practice as a beginner, and would let him grasp the basics easily before he moved on to the actual challenge he was hoping to end off his trip with: Hunting mobs with throwing knives. Mobile targets were infinitely harder to hit than stationery trees, since they not only provided a smaller target, their mobility meant he had to take into account their actions and predict where they will be so that the weapon would hit them. A tough challenge indeed.
In any case, the plans for the future meant nothing if he did nothing but stare at the trees now. The Swashbuckler knew that a tough journey awaited him: without training himself, pushing himself occasionally, he would not survive. He sighed and readied himself for the training he was about to put himself through.
He started off by examing the system assisted throw. A simple stance, a flick of the wrist, and the weapon shot dead center in the tree trunk. Perhaps he should start with this, before trying to draw and throw simultaneously.
He adopted a wide stance for a moment, took in a deep breath, aimed and threw the weapon. Unlike before, it sailed through the air, almost hitting its mark. He supposed he was at fault for standing about ten meters away.
This continued for hours and hours, until the sun began to set and the red rays of the evening sun engulfed the area. He was exhausted; it was obvious from his panting, the knives strewn around the area, and the smell of sweat coming from him. In hindsight, he should have brought a tub or something, so he could have a shower. He guessed he could use a stream like some medieval person, but he was slightly afraid of someone watching him. Hopefully not a person inclined towards someone of the same gender.
He waited till night had set in before he made his move and headed towards the stream he knew to be closest to here, doing his best to hide in the shadows as he advanced. Man, Assassins had it easy in this area. Why had he not chosen Assassin? Probably the paper life.
He made it to the location he desired to reach without encountering difficulty, which was a relief. He washed quickly, and returned quickly, escaping to the comfort of the rocky outcrop and the blankets he had laid out before he set out.
It really was just like a camp. As he lay down under shelter, observing the light from the stars, he realized that the stars were bright, more so than back in the real world. He was taught the reason why. The city lights prevented city dwellers from seeing the lights. While it was true that Londinium was growing to become a massive trading hub which would someday rival the cities of old, he could still see the stars, out here in the open. Had the stars always been visible from the ground. He never knew, for he had never thought to look up whenever he had to stay up at night, doing one thing or another. He stopped short of having a conversation play out in his head, on whether the old world was better than the world he currently inhabited. He knew it was futile to find an answer at the present moment, so he just turned over and fell asleep under the gaze of the stars.
The chirping the birds in the air awoke the sleepy Adventurer, who crawled out of his blankets. Stifling a yawn, he stretched, momentarily wondering where he was, and why it seemed like he just entered a fantasy novel. Oh yea, he was here to remove the comfortable distractions of the city to train. He was kind of already regretting his decision, but then if he did not do this, could he even find it in himself to practice? Practicing was hard work, and for someone like him, he would like nothing better than to not do anything and stare into space for hours at a time.
He dragged himself upright, pawing the ground for his satchel. He dug into its contents briefly before bringing out a loaf of bread and a jar of something which resemble jam. Preparing a quick breakfast for himself, he observed his surroundings, and noted that it had no rained while he slept; the rocks were still dry.
It seemed that a boar had come by while he was asleep, the tracks on the ground showing obvious boar hooves. Thankfully, it saw fit not to disturb him. He would not have wanted to be woken up by the pain of being gored by a boar. But it still begged the question of why the boar had suddenly chosen to appear nearby. What was its purpose? There was plenty of grass around the area, why come to the one area where a sleeping Adventurer lay? Was it to give a warning? Or had it simply arrived there only to find its spot taken and left in anguish? Probably the latter, though it was not known to not charge rashly. Maybe he actually met a friendly boar, for once. It would certainly be a pleasant change from the generic angry boar he had almost gotten accustomed to.
He knew he was in for a long day, sighing to himself, he finished up his breakfast and picked up his training gear. There was practice to be done, and the day had only just started.
~
Word count: 2015
Total word count after modifiers (Swashbuckler): 4030
Notes: Just learning to throw knives.
~
The gentle swaying of the grass revealed to the casual observer that a slight breeze blew across the secluded area undisturbed by Adventurers and People of the Land alike. This particular field was surrounded by trees, and rock formation protruded from the earth, its strange formation seemingly able to provide shelter for any beast that desired such a place to rest. It had not rained for two days, so the rocks were dry, but if one were to arrive here just after a rain, one would notice that a pool of water would form near the sheltered resting spot. Some time ago, a lone Crag Cow which had abandoned its cruel master fled here to recuperate, and a fooled Adventurer sallied forth to slay it with a unwilling heart.
That same Adventurer, once he discovered the truth of matter, felt disgusted with not just the People of the Land for resorting to trickery to get what they wanted, but also himself, for being foolish enough to accept the lie at face value. The antisocial youngster had a long way to go to settling into the world he was now trapped in.
That day, the same Adventurer which slew the unfortunate beast arrived at the same location, the blood of that day still etched somewhere in his memories, for while the youngster had slain many beasts before this particular one, none were done to help someone in their petty desires. The deed was done, but not forgotten.
However, the purpose of this trip was not to visit a grave. Neither was it for soul searching. He was here to train, simply because this was a quiet location that few knew of. Perhaps it was the fact that it was deep in the Windsor Greatwood. Perhaps it was simply because he happened to miss people who actually came here, for this was only his second time here. In any case, it mattered not to him, for the moment at least.
The young adventurer still remembered the time he purchased throwing knives for the first time from a Werecat blacksmith. Back then, he reasoned with himself that he needed them for attacks that extended beyond the reach of his sword; some things could be better accomplished with ranged attacks.
That being said, he had little experience in using projectiles. The auto feature had been helpful in aiding him in getting the right stance, the right posture to throw it, but it was slightly awkward for him, and simply too slow. No, he needed to shoot them fast, and to do so, he needed to practice until drawing, hurling and redrawing another knife became second nature to him.
There was a reason he had chosen such a secluded place to practice throwing weapons. Or rather, there were two. The first and most obvious reason is that he did not like being around people. They throw him off, constantly getting in his way with their apparently so-very-helpful tips, which he did not take well to. Everybody had their own fighting style, and he was not in the least bit inclined to learn from others for it meant exposing a weakness to others.
That led to the second one, information. It was an obvious fact that information spread much more slowly without the internet. That made information all the more valuable. Be it fighting styles, knowledge on things such as loot drops, where the best quests were, where the best grinding spots were, all these suddenly became valuable information when the internet disappeared just like the world they lived in, for many on this particular server were new people and thus, had little to no knowledge on the game itself. It was because of this that knowledge itself became something of a trade, with secrets which went for high prices, as if they were auctioning off some rare equip. As such, he did not want anybody to be spying on him, lest he one day caught the eye of some PKers.
He stepped into the familiar clearing, his boots landing softly against the hard earth which was covered by soft grass. Instead of heading for the rocky outcrop, he stopped at the edge and turned to face a tree. He stood there for a moment, breathing slowly to keep his focus. Then he acted.
In one swift, if somewhat awkward motion, the Swashbuckler snatched a knife from his belt and hurled it at one of the tree trunks. It sailed through the air, making a soft whistling sound as it flew, the cold blade of the knife pointing straight ahead, poised to strike... only air.
His aim was off by a large margin, causing the knife he had thrown to veer off and drop onto the ground after some distance. He sighed, then stepped forward to pick up his knife. Of course, he suspected such an outcome. This was because he had not thrown the knife with an attack assisted by the system, but with his own skills. The only problem was, he had never done such a thing before. He guessed he would be here a while, so it was fortunate that he had prepared about a week's worth of food. The rocky outcrop would become his temporary home while he lazed ab- um, trained with throwing projectiles until he felt that his aim without system assistance was satisfactory, which would mean to say he could hit about half the time.
He knew he should not expect much. For a beginner at throwing weapons to be somewhat proficient in it within a week was something that was far out of his reach. He was no genius; merely an ordinary person struggling in this world. Nevertheless, it never hurt to dream, and at the very least, he hoped he would gain some skill by the end of his makeshift camping trip. Apart from food, the only things he brought were a [Soft Blanket] and a book to read, one which had somehow found its way into his hands. From what he knew, it was a rare book with few existing copies, so the fact that he had somehow acquired one and did not remember how he got it was quite baffling. Was it by a red letter...? In any case, he hoped he would be comfortable staying here for a few days. He was not exactly an outdoors person.
If he were to plan out a schedule for himself, he would say that he will be spending the first five or so days practicing on trees. The thick, solid wood was a good way to practice as a beginner, and would let him grasp the basics easily before he moved on to the actual challenge he was hoping to end off his trip with: Hunting mobs with throwing knives. Mobile targets were infinitely harder to hit than stationery trees, since they not only provided a smaller target, their mobility meant he had to take into account their actions and predict where they will be so that the weapon would hit them. A tough challenge indeed.
In any case, the plans for the future meant nothing if he did nothing but stare at the trees now. The Swashbuckler knew that a tough journey awaited him: without training himself, pushing himself occasionally, he would not survive. He sighed and readied himself for the training he was about to put himself through.
He started off by examing the system assisted throw. A simple stance, a flick of the wrist, and the weapon shot dead center in the tree trunk. Perhaps he should start with this, before trying to draw and throw simultaneously.
He adopted a wide stance for a moment, took in a deep breath, aimed and threw the weapon. Unlike before, it sailed through the air, almost hitting its mark. He supposed he was at fault for standing about ten meters away.
This continued for hours and hours, until the sun began to set and the red rays of the evening sun engulfed the area. He was exhausted; it was obvious from his panting, the knives strewn around the area, and the smell of sweat coming from him. In hindsight, he should have brought a tub or something, so he could have a shower. He guessed he could use a stream like some medieval person, but he was slightly afraid of someone watching him. Hopefully not a person inclined towards someone of the same gender.
He waited till night had set in before he made his move and headed towards the stream he knew to be closest to here, doing his best to hide in the shadows as he advanced. Man, Assassins had it easy in this area. Why had he not chosen Assassin? Probably the paper life.
He made it to the location he desired to reach without encountering difficulty, which was a relief. He washed quickly, and returned quickly, escaping to the comfort of the rocky outcrop and the blankets he had laid out before he set out.
It really was just like a camp. As he lay down under shelter, observing the light from the stars, he realized that the stars were bright, more so than back in the real world. He was taught the reason why. The city lights prevented city dwellers from seeing the lights. While it was true that Londinium was growing to become a massive trading hub which would someday rival the cities of old, he could still see the stars, out here in the open. Had the stars always been visible from the ground. He never knew, for he had never thought to look up whenever he had to stay up at night, doing one thing or another. He stopped short of having a conversation play out in his head, on whether the old world was better than the world he currently inhabited. He knew it was futile to find an answer at the present moment, so he just turned over and fell asleep under the gaze of the stars.
The chirping the birds in the air awoke the sleepy Adventurer, who crawled out of his blankets. Stifling a yawn, he stretched, momentarily wondering where he was, and why it seemed like he just entered a fantasy novel. Oh yea, he was here to remove the comfortable distractions of the city to train. He was kind of already regretting his decision, but then if he did not do this, could he even find it in himself to practice? Practicing was hard work, and for someone like him, he would like nothing better than to not do anything and stare into space for hours at a time.
He dragged himself upright, pawing the ground for his satchel. He dug into its contents briefly before bringing out a loaf of bread and a jar of something which resemble jam. Preparing a quick breakfast for himself, he observed his surroundings, and noted that it had no rained while he slept; the rocks were still dry.
It seemed that a boar had come by while he was asleep, the tracks on the ground showing obvious boar hooves. Thankfully, it saw fit not to disturb him. He would not have wanted to be woken up by the pain of being gored by a boar. But it still begged the question of why the boar had suddenly chosen to appear nearby. What was its purpose? There was plenty of grass around the area, why come to the one area where a sleeping Adventurer lay? Was it to give a warning? Or had it simply arrived there only to find its spot taken and left in anguish? Probably the latter, though it was not known to not charge rashly. Maybe he actually met a friendly boar, for once. It would certainly be a pleasant change from the generic angry boar he had almost gotten accustomed to.
He knew he was in for a long day, sighing to himself, he finished up his breakfast and picked up his training gear. There was practice to be done, and the day had only just started.
~
Word count: 2015
Total word count after modifiers (Swashbuckler): 4030
Notes: Just learning to throw knives.
